


The Healing

by deathmarkedlove_archivist



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-29
Updated: 2007-01-29
Packaged: 2019-01-31 23:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12692439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathmarkedlove_archivist/pseuds/deathmarkedlove_archivist
Summary: A post Intervention fic. Buffy and Giles take care of an injured Spike. PG-13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Hils, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Death-Marked Love](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Death-Marked_Love). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Death-Marked Love collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/deathmarkedlove/profile).

Six heads turned toward her expectantly as she entered the Magic Box, and Buffy wished she had some idea what to say to them. The only thought she could really seem to focus on was Spike’s face looking like it had been put through a meat-grinder.   
After a long moment of silence, Giles asked, “What did Spike say? Did he tell Glory about Dawn?” “No. He didn’t tell her. Glory doesn’t know.”

Buffy crossed to the table and sat down, kicking off the heels that went with the ‘bot costume. She tried to manage a smile for Dawn, but judging from her sister’s expression, it didn’t come off very well.

“You’re sure he thought you were the ‘bot?” Xander asked. “I mean, maybe he knew who you were and was pulling a fast one.”

“He was about one step from passing out when I talked to him. Definitely not up for plans and schemes. No, he thought I was the robot when he told me what happened.”

_That wasn’t a lie. He didn’t know I wasn’t the robot until later._

“Wow.” Xander frowned down at his hands. “You know, that was one hell of a beating to take without talking.”

“Yes,” Giles said quietly. “Yes it was. I believe Glory and her minions brought Spike to the edge of the final death.”

_Except death is my gift._

Dawn looked from one to the other with increasing upset. “But why? Why wouldn’t he tell her? Isn’t Spike supposed to be evil? Evil people don’t resist torture to save other people!”

“They don’t, do they?” Buffy reached out, brushed back her sister’s hair, and lied. “I don’t know why he didn’t tell her.”

_Because it would destroy Buffy. And I’d rather die than bring her that much pain._

“Is Spike becoming less evil?” Tara asked cautiously. “Except the whole robot thing was kind of bad.”

Buffy laughed humorlessly. “Very bad. Also extremely nasty. And if I’d found out about it without him getting captured by Glory, I probably would have smacked him around about like she did.” She looked around the table. “But he didn’t betray us, guys. We have to remember that. When the chips were down, yes, I know, bad pun, Spike did what was right.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Scoobies faded away, one after the other, taking Dawn with them, until Buffy was left alone in the Magic Box with her Watcher. Giles moved around the shop quietly, putting things away, while she sat and brooded.

“Forgive,” she said at last.

He sat down in the chair next to her. “You’re thinking about what the First Slayer said to you?”

Buffy nodded. “Love. Give. **Forgive**. That’s what she said. Did she mean Spike?”

“There would certainly be a lot to forgive,” Giles said slowly. “Buffy, I have a feeling you’re didn’t tell us everything.”

“I didn’t.”

_And I’m still not going to. You don’t need to know about the kiss. Hell, **I** don’t need to know about the kiss. _

She took a deep breath and blurted, “He didn’t tell Glory about Dawn because it would hurt me. Spike took all that pain for **me** , Giles! Do you know what that means? He loves me, just like he said! And not nasty-sex kind of love. The real stuff. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“I don’t know,” her Watcher said helplessly. “Truly, I don’t. This situation has never risen before in the history of the Slayer. In a very real sense, you are the First One, here.”

“Great. There's no way I'm wearing that face paint.”

Buffy rose and began to pace, skirt switching behind her. “And besides all that, like Dawn said, Spike’s evil! He’s an evil demon, doing good things. How is that even possible?”

Again, Giles spread his hands. “All I can tell you is that it isn’t supposed to be. I’ve never heard of such a thing before.” He looked at her curiously. “What do you want to do about it?”

“I don’t know.” She leaned her head against a bookcase shelf. “Go back to when it was simple. Kill bad thing with stake. Get up next morning and go to school. The End.”

“That doesn’t work terribly well, I’m afraid. And is that really what you want? To forget how much you’ve seen and learned? Forget how much you’ve grown?”

“Guess not.” She returned to the table and dropped into her chair. “Like, I actually used to dress this way on purpose. Moving on was a good thing there.”

Giles chuckled. “You see? Change can be positive. Buffy,” he said more seriously. “No matter what Spike has done for you, I don’t want you to feel obligated to return or pretend to return his…affection…no matter how sincere he may be.”

Buffy smiled at him and shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’m grateful to him, but my ‘bot impression days are over. Still, I can’t treat him as an enemy anymore. He’s proven that he isn’t.”

“Yes. Yes he has, rather definitely.”

“Speaking of which, he was…uh…chewed up pretty badly, and I don’t know all that much about wound healing,” And being around Spike right now might be a bad idea. “Could you…?”

“Look in on him? Yes, I was going to.”

“Thanks, Giles.” She came to her feet and headed toward the door. “Dawn’s spending a last night at Xander and Anya’s, so I think I’m going to go home and perform some kind of dress-burning ritual”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He added extra pain-killer, antiseptic, bandages, and a flask of o-positive human blood to his standard first-aid kit and loaded the whole thing into the trunk of his car along with several extra pillows and blankets.

Giles had been truthful when he had told Buffy he had planned to check on Spike. He had been troubled over leaving the injured vampire in his crypt in the first place, but he had been so stunned by the sight of the beating and by the events in general, that he hadn’t been thinking straight.

However, he was glad she had asked him to do so. He had been rather annoyed with his Slayer when she made the comment about hoping his and Xander’s conversation with Spike had a dusty ending. Her quip had seemed heartless when compared with Spike’s wounds. But of course, she hadn’t known how badly he was hurt, and her attention and worry were, understandably, focused on her sister. And at that time, she had still regarded Spike as an enemy.

That didn’t seem the case anymore, he sighed, as he drove the short distance to the cemetery. Spike actions had seemed to finally prove that he was no longer a threat and that his love for the Slayer was real, and not as Buffy put it, just about ‘nasty-sex’.

Not that nasty-sex wasn’t involved. Spike’s feelings for Buffy definitely involved the physical. Even now, recalling what Xander had told him about Spike and the robot’s activities in the cemetery made the Watcher’s mouth tighten in outrage. The vampire might well count himself fortunate that he had proven himself with Glory before Giles could get to him to express his extreme displeasure with that particular situation.

Still, he **had** proven himself, which led to the issue of Buffy’s reaction. At the moment, she seemed more confused than anything else at Spike’s shift from enemy to ally. There had been quite a varied amount of upheavals in her life lately with her, her sister’s arrival, the problem of Glory, and her mother’s death.

Consider it dispassionately, he told himself. From a logical viewpoint, how would Spike be as a…partner…for Buffy?

On the one hand, he already knew about the Slaying, which saved explanations. He was a close match for her in strength, which had seemed to be a problem with Riley. He had shown himself concerned with her welfare.

On the other, he was a demon who had tried to kill her multiple times. His ‘good’ phase had lasted about 6 months, and had involved that bloody robot, not to mention the touching courtship technique of chaining Buffy up and offering to kill Drusilla for her. Finally, only God knew what would happen if Spike ever got that chip out of his head. Buffy had already had one lover turn to evil, and Angel had been actively attempting to redeem himself.

Giles pulled the car up to the cemetery gate, unloaded his supplies, and trudged through the cemetery. He was off to render aid and comfort to a vampire, unable to injure humans, who had resisted torture for the Slayer he had once done his best to kill.

One of the Watcher’s Diaries had spoken of a Slayer who had been the center of violent poltergeist activity with fires breaking out whenever she killed something. How restful that sounded. To think that the only thing that Watcher had to worry about was having buckets of water handy. Some people didn’t know when they were well off. Perhaps another Watcher would say that about him one day. If so, Giles heartily pitied them.

The crypt was quiet. Giles didn’t have a hand free to knock, so he used a hip to shove open the door.

“Spike?” he called softly, not wanting the vampire to think he was under attack once more. “Spike, it’s Rupert Giles.”

No answer.

He set the supplies down by the door and pulled out his torch, playing the light around the interior.

When the beam crossed the body laying on the tomb, Giles’ breath caught, and for a moment, he thought he wouldn’t have to worry about Buffy and Spike after all. The vampire wasn’t dust, but he wasn’t far from it.

The Watcher hastily crossed to the tomb and studied Spike’s supine form. The wounds on the face had worsened, swelling alarmingly and turning darker.

Giles brought the light nearer to Spike’s face, and he flinched, muttering something unintelligible.

“Can you hear me?” Giles said.

“Go ‘way. Won’t tell you…stupid bint,” Spike slurred.

Giles lightly touched Spike’s forehead and frowned at the feel of warmth, so unnatural for a vampire. Fever. Infection. Probably poison from the demon’s touch. Buffy had said that Glory’s minions looked sick. Spike must have worsened steadily since Buffy left.

He grabbed up the bag of supplies and returned to the vampire’s side. Moving swiftly, Giles poured antiseptic on a cloth, gently touched it to the wounded side of Spike’s face…

And found himself flat on the floor on the other side of the crypt with his ears ringing and a bruise of his own on the side of his jaw.

He sat up warily, braced for further attack, but Spike fell back on the tomb moaning and snarling unintelligible curses.

Spike was simply reacting, Giles realized, his brain too fogged and delirious to even form intent, which meant that the chip wasn’t going to stop him.

He needed more supplies than he had to counteract this, such as herbs to counteract the poison and provide a healing sleep. He also needed someone capable of restraining a delirious vampire without injuring him further.

With a sigh, he reached for his cell-phone.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Buffy arrived out of breath, having run most of the way from her house, to find her Watcher seated on the crypt porch, with his eye starting to blacken. She dropped the two quarterstaffs Giles had requested and hurried over to him.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He climbed stiffly to his feet. "It's been quiet. He may be unconscious once more.”

“I guess we'll find out.”

Cautiously, she peeked around the door, and hissed when she saw Spike on top of the tomb. His condition had startled her a little the first time she had seen him, but then, most of her concern had been to find out whether he had told Glory about Dawn. Now, with nothing to distract her, she was shocked anew by the severity of his wounds.

“He was nowhere near this bad when I left,” she whispered.

“The infection hadn’t taken hold,” Giles answered softly. “And these aren’t the best conditions for someone injured.”

Guilt swamped Buffy. She should have done something earlier, something more practical than a kiss, at least seen if he needed anything.

Giles followed her thought processes without difficulty. “Xander and I shouldn’t have left him here, but it’s too late to worry about that now. All we can do is try to repair the damage.”

“All right.” She squared her shoulders. “You said you wanted to take Spike to the Magic Box?”

“Yes. I have the herbs there to fight this infection. And we can make him somewhat more comfortable. The training room at the back doesn’t have any windows, and your tumbling mats will make a reasonable bed. I’ve moved the car as close to the crypt as possible, but we still have to get him there.”

“Ok. Let’s do this.”

She preceded her Watcher into the crypt and stood by the tomb, looking down at the vampire. There was sweat on his forehead, and his left cheek was swollen to the point that she could hardly see his injured eye. Compared to his present state, Spike had looked healthy the first time she saw him that day, and pain clutched at her.

_I don’t want anyone to do this for me. I’m just not worth it._

Buffy took a deep breath. This wasn’t helping: like Giles said, the past was done. Now, they had to fix what they could.

“I’m ready,” Giles said.

Turning, she saw that he had attached blankets to the quarterstaffs, making a stretcher.

“Spike,” she said gently. “This is going to hurt, but don’t fight, ok? Giles and I are trying to help you.”

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Except for the fact that he wasn’t a pile of dust, she would have thought he had already reached the final death.

She slid her hands under Spike’s arms while Giles took hold of his feet. “I’m pretty sure he’s got broken ribs, so we’ll try to do this together. On ‘lift’. One, two, three, lift.”

They moved together as smoothly as they could, but Spike howled and began to thrash, and it was all they could do to lower him to the blanket without dropping him.

“No!” Buffy dropped to her knees and caught the flailing hands, using all her strength to bring Spike’s arms to his sides. His good eye snapped open, flared gold as fangs began to descend. He arched against her hold and snarled in pain as his broken ribs stabbed him.

“Stop it, Spike,” she pleaded, afraid he was going to manage to kill himself before they could get him out of there. He ignored her, continuing to struggle against her hold. “WILLIAM! Calm down! Stop fighting me!”

He stilled, looking confused, as the vampire features faded and his eye flicked back to blue. “Buffy?” he whispered.

“Yes, it’s me.” She thought of adding, ‘the less pleasant Buffy’ but decided now wasn’t the time for bitchiness. “Just be quiet now, and let us help.”

Spike’s eye closed, and the clenched muscles relaxed a little, due either to understanding or unconsciousness, and she nodded to Giles. They each moved to an end of the stretcher and stood, lifting it between them.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope nothing attacks, Buffy thought, as she and her Watcher hastened through the cemetery. She had a vivid picture of having to drop her end of Spike to fight off something, but the fates seemed to be helping out the tiniest bit, and they made it to the car without incident.

They set the stretcher down and looked from each other, to Spike, to the small back seat of Giles’ car.

“We seem to have a logistical problem,” Giles sighed.

“If you mean it’s going to be a trick getting him into the car, I’d have to say yes.”

“I can think of one way,” he said, not looking at her.

“You mean one of us gets into the back seat and pulls and the other one pushes? I thought of that too. Plus, somebody should sit back there to keep him from falling on the floor.”

“I have to drive,” he said apologetically.

“And I can tell you just hate not to be the one to cuddle Spike,” she answered sarcastically. “All right, all right. I know we have to, so, let’s go ahead.”

Buffy knelt on the back seat of the car, gripping Spike’s shoulders to keep him from slipping, while Giles propped the stretcher against the side. As slowly and carefully as possible, they worked him into the car. Buffy pulled back into the corner as far as she could and gathered Spike’s upper body across her lap, his head resting on her arm.

“Are you all right back there?” Giles asked as he settled into the driver’s seat.

“I’m peachy. Try to drive a little faster than your normal five miles under the speed limit, ok?”

“Right.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, this was different. Had she been told at any time from three years ago until this afternoon, that she would be deliberately cradling an injured Spike in her arms as opposed to finishing him off, she would have laughed herself sick. But here they both were.

She sneaked a look down at him. He was quiet, and she hoped that was good sign, but otherwise nothing had changed. Spike looked awful, and not in a pale, injured hero sort of way. He didn’t look romantic or glamorous. He looked like somebody who had been tortured almost to death.

_We have something, Buffy. It's not pretty, but it's real._

_What you did for me, and Dawn, that was real._

She sighed.

_Real or not, I don’t want to think about this._

At that moment, Giles took a curve a little too fast, and Buffy automatically tightened her grip on Spike. He shifted as the car straightened back out, and his head was suddenly lying against her breast instead of her arm.

An expected wave of sheer heat shot through her, and instincts deeper than those of the Slayer screamed to draw him closer against breasts that were suddenly hard and aching. She swallowed down a noise that wanted to be a moan and resolutely moved him back down.

“I know I said drive fast, but watch the Indie-car stuff, Giles,” she said as steadily as she could.

“Sorry. Almost there.”

“Slayer?” The voice was a bare whisper, but when Buffy hesitantly looked back down, there was recognition in his eye.

“What?” She said as matter-of –factly as she could, as if holding him against her were an everyday occurance.

He swallowed painfully and croaked, “There a reason I’m in your lap?”

“Long story. Hang on.”

“’kay.” Spike relaxed against her again, apparently trusting her utterly to get him out of this, and before Buffy realized what she was doing, her hand came up to stroke the pale, matted hair.

Fortunately, they arrived at the Magic Box before she could give into any lullaby-singing impulses.

They got Spike back onto the stretcher basically by reversing the procedure used to get him into the car, Giles lifting his feet while Buffy pushed on his shoulders. At last, they got him inside the training room and onto a hastily constructed mattress consisting of two of the thick tumbling mats covered by a blanket. Giles lit a small lamp providing a diffuse light instead of the usual bright overheads.

“Now what?” asked Buffy.

“Stay here, and keep him quiet while I mix up the potion,” Giles instructed. He handed her two flasks. “Water and blood. If he can take either, it should help.”

“Right.”

She sat down by Spike’s mattress, watching him worriedly. The vampire stirred a little, moaning, flinching away from even the dim light of the lamp, so she switched it off, leaving the spill of light from the partially open door as the only illumination.

“Easy,” Buffy said softly. “You’ll be ok.”

She could barely see him, but she caught the movement as his head turned toward her voice.

“Slayer?”

“I’m here.” She shifted closer until her leg was against the mats. “Can you drink something? Giles has blood.”

He nodded slightly, and Buffy opened the flask, turning back to him as Spike began to struggle to rise.

“Cut that out,” she said briskly and slid her arm under him, supporting him against her shoulder as she held the flask to his lips.

Spike swallowed twice, then coughed painfully, and she laid him back.

“Should…get hurt…more often,” he whispered.

“I’m sure something can be worked out.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the herbs steeped, Giles watched Buffy and Spike from the doorway, unseen by either.

Did she notice, Giles wondered, how her touch was gentle, even as her words remained abrasive? Did she see how her voice reached him when the jolting of the stretcher had not?

My God, he thought in wonder, it may really happen. They may really fall in love. That is, he’s already there, and Buffy’s well on her way, as if she had been only waiting for confirmation that Spike could be trusted.

He shuffled through his memories, trying to see what signs he had missed. She had entrusted her mother and sister to Spike’s care once. It could be argued that the action was born of desperation, but if she had thought he would harm them, Buffy would never have done so. True, he couldn’t harm them physically because of the chip, but nothing had prevented him from turning them over to Glory.

Buffy had remained entirely unaware of Spike’s interest until Dawn pointed it out, but that was strange, surely? She was not oblivious of her surroundings; no Slayer could be and survive. Could she have been afraid to recognize it? The First One had said Buffy feared love. Was that fear of receiving as well as giving?

And what, if anything, should he do about it? The Council would collapse in horror and insist he stake Spike at once. But was that the right thing to do? Like it or not, the vampire had been ready to sacrifice himself for Buffy’s happiness. Who was Rupert Giles or anyone else to say Spike was unworthy or incapable of love?

Poltergeists. He knew what to do about poltergeists. Why couldn’t she have poltergeists, or the ability to trigger rains of frogs, or a desire to collect china cats?

The teakettle whistled, and he sighed and went to collect the herbs.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The blood seemed to have strengthened him a little, but Spike was still drifting in and out of wakefulness, as Giles reentered the room. Buffy turned the lamp back on and frowned at what she saw the Watcher carrying. The poultice was all right, but the scalpel in his hand didn’t look promising, and his expression was grim.

He knelt on the other side of the mattress and brought the lamp near to the vampire’s face. Spike started to twist away from the light but forced himself to lie still.

Giles studied the injuries for a few moments, then sighed. “I was afraid of this. The wound on your cheek has closed, and it looks to be the source of the infection. I’m going to have to cut it open again, so the herbs can work. I’ll be quick, but it will hurt like hell.”

“Guessed as much,” the vampire muttered. “Do it then.”

“I need you not to fight me,” Giles said. “Buffy?”

“Ok.”

She knelt on the mat next to Spike and put her hands on his shoulders, holding him down.

“No.” Spike feebly tugged at one of Buffy’s wrists until she released him. “I’m awake enough not to fight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” As if to prove it, he fisted his hands around the blanket.

“Very well then.” Giles took a deep breath and raised the scalpel.

“Wait.” Buffy unclenched one of the vampire’s hands and took it between her own. “Now.”

The scalpel slashed down. Spike didn’t scream, but a groan came from between his clenched teeth as black blood and pus poured from the wound. His hand tightened to bruising force around Buffy’s but she made no effort to pull away.

Giles set the poultice against the wound, letting the herbs absorb into the cut. Spike shuddered deeply, but didn’t try to fight, the demon features not even surfacing.

“Now, drink this. It will help you sleep.”

Already almost unconscious from the pain, Spike obeyed, his working eye never leaving the Slayer until it finally closed in exhaustion.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They traded watches through the night, Buffy or Giles sleeping on a third training mat while the other watched over Spike. Or at least Giles slept. Glancing over at Buffy during her supposed sleeping periods, he usually saw that her eyes were open, staring into the dark, although she closed them when she sensed his gaze.

Toward morning, he moved over to sit beside her mat.

“What is it?” he whispered. “I think Spike will be fine, you know. The fever’s gone down and now that the infection is taken care of, his own healing powers should be able to deal with the rest of his wounds.”

“I know,” she whispered back. “It’s just…strange. All of it. I don’t know what to think. Love is pain, the First One said, and the Slayer forges strength from pain. But what does that mean? What am I supposed to do?”

“I wish I could tell you, but that’s something only you can decide. I can tell you I will be here, whatever happens.”

“Y’know, all this metaphysical yammering is keeping me awake,” drawled a weak but snide Cockney voice. “And I’m a sick man.”

Both Slayer and Watcher glared at the vampire. “I didn't realize she was talking about pain in the ass,” Buffy snapped and flounced over.

Giles returned to his book and seat against the wall. “Was that really necessary?” he asked the vampire in a low voice a few moments later. “Buffy went to a lot of trouble for you tonight and…”

Spike grinned with the less split side of his mouth. “She’s finally asleep isn’t she?”

Giles looked over and saw that Buffy was indeed sleeping contentedly at last, a slight smile on her face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Note: I took a few liberties with the timeline. For the purposes of this story, Buffy has rescued Willow from Glory: however, Glory’s has not discovered Dawn’s is the Key.

Buffy drew a deep breath of relief and managed a smile as Dawn glanced worriedly over her shoulder before reluctantly disappearing into the school. She hated to leave Dawn, but she should be relatively save with the other ninth-graders. Glory was looking for differences in her life, so special treatment was out.

She blinked hard, swallowing tears that wanted to flow at the images that flickered through her mind: Tara, her confused face still gentle in her madness; Willow, first raging, then helpless, feet kicking feebly as she dangled from the demented hell-god’s hand.

_Bad call. I can’t believe I made such a bad call. Although why not? What other kinds of calls have I been making lately?_

She turned away from the school and began to wander. Although her feet were receiving no particular direction from a brain that was whirling over the events of the past few weeks, she somehow wasn’t surprised to find herself in the cemetery.

There hadn’t been time beyond a quick “Everything’s fine” when she retrieved Dawn from Spike’s crypt early that morning. They had just enough time to get home, shower, eat a pop tart…

_I’ll worry about nutrition later. Like if we survive the rest of the week._

…and get to school. Buffy didn’t need social services after her on top of everything else.

But she owed Spike an explanation. God, she owed Spike Willow’s life.

The crypt door swung open as she arrived, and he stood in the doorway, protected by the shade of the roof. The bruises stood out on his face, startling against the pale skin and hair, and a fresh wave of misery and guilt struck her. He had been injured protecting them, to save her pain, and she had been ready to kill him.

At least she had been decent enough to help Spike when his wounds became infected. That had been a strange night. Even now, in the middle of everything else, the memory of holding him in her arms caused an odd fluttering down in the pit of her stomach.

“What’s happened?” he asked, voice sharp with worry.

“Nothing,” she answered reassuringly, banishing her hormones. “I got Dawn to school. We’re ok for the moment.”

“Good.” Spike stepped back, still moving carefully from his injuries, allowing her to enter. “What’s up, then? Don’t tell me you’re making a social call.”

“Actually, I am, sort of,” she admitted, leaning against the wall of the crypt and folding her arms.

Spike started to raise an eyebrow, thought better of it as his bruises protested, and contented himself with perching on the tomb and pulling out a cigarette.

“All right,” he said, blowing a cloud of smoke. “The soaps don’t start ‘til round ten, but there’s chess, pinochle, Scrabble….”

“Not **that** social a call,” Buffy said dryly. She took a deep breath. “I wanted to thank you for warning me about Willow. I was almost too late,” she added in a small voice.

“But you weren’t,” he said quietly. “Too late that is. And even if you had been, you warned Willow, and she chose to attack Glory in spite of it. They’re grown up, Buffy. You can’t watch the whole lot of them every minute.”

“You’re right, I guess.” But it was hard not to feel guilty, not to feel that it was all her fault this was happening. Not to feel that a different Slayer would have handled everything a lot better.

Spike said more lightly, “I’m always right, Summers. Haven’t you learned that by now? Whenever you need your little feet pointed in the right direction, feel free to stop by, and I’ll be happy set you on the proper path.”

“Gee, I am so lucky.” She beamed at him with cloying sweetness and he smirked back, sketching a salute with his cigarette. “So,” Buffy continued, “Direction Guy, what do I do about Glory?”

“I’m working on it.”

His voice was cold, the lightness entirely gone, and she realized that he spoke the truth. Spike was, in fact, working on what to do about Glory. Of course, all of her friends were working on that particular problem, and it could be argued that his torture had given him a personal interest, but Buffy felt oddly warmed by Spike’s statement and a little less alone.

She nodded in grave acknowledgement of his words, never dropping her eyes from his. And all the oxygen suddenly seemed to be missing from the crypt.

The words he had used to explain about Willow came back into her mind with jarring clarity.

_I would, for the right person, someone I loved, I'd do it._

And from a few nights ago…

_I’d rather die that cause her that much pain._

He loved her. She knew it now. The vampire who stood, not so very far away, regarding her with dark blue eyes in his bruised and battered face, loved her. And her body flared with heat again, her breasts aching at the memory of his weight.

“Your bruises are looking better,” Buffy said absolutely off the top of her head because she had to say something, or she was going to run away, screaming or…or do something else that would probably be a bad idea in the circumstances.

Spike blinked, startled.“Yeah,” he said, sounding slightly relieved himself at having the tension dissipate, at least a little. “Your Watcher knows his herbs. Put the rest down to evil vampiric healing powers.”

She looked at him a long moment, several concepts coming together in her mind that she hadn’t really entertained before but could deny no longer. “No,” she said softly but with finality.

“No, what?” he shrugged.

“No, not evil.” She swallowed, finding it suddenly hard to say. “Vampire healing powers, ok, sure. But you’re not evil, Spike. Not any more.”

He went absolutely still, face blank as he processed her words. Then, his expression flashed into fury and in one move, he was across the crypt and standing over her, one hand wrenched into the collar of her shirt and yanking her up on her toes.

“Don’t say that again,” he snarled into her face. “I am a vampire, I am evil, and if you push me, Slayer, I’ll remind you of it.”

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Buffy asked, twisting back against his hold. Surprise at the sudden change had held her still, but now the Slayer sensed attack and woke, sending adrenaline through her muscles, pointing out calmly that she could throw him through the front door of the crypt and into the sun without much difficulty.

“Don’t forget,” Spike growled, releasing her with a shake, although he didn’t step back. “I’m the one had a robot made of you, and the things I did with it, you wouldn’t believe.” His eyes raked up and down her body.

Buffy’s spine went rigid in outrage. “That wasn’t evil,” she hissed. “That was just pathetic. And if I’d found out about the robot before Glory caught you, I would have hurt you worse than she did!”

_What’s happening? I was feeling happy and kind of…mushy. And now…_

“Right,” he said in a voice that dripped venom. “And that would have differed from our usual encounters, how? Get in a bad mood and slap Spike around ‘cause he’s weak and pathetic from the chip? Or at least that’s how it was until you decided I might actually be useful. Well, I might be chipped, Slayer, but I’m still me. Still Spike. And one day, I’ll be strong again.”

She was sick inside, stomach clenched and cramping from the pain of his words, and she couldn’t quite keep her voice from shaking as she said, “And they’ll be finding my body for weeks. I remember the drill.”

Shock and horror washed over his face, overwhelming the anger. “Buffy, no. That wasn’t….”

"Wasn't it?" Her arms folded tight across her body, trying to hold the pain inside.

_This hurts. Oh, God, this hurts so much._

“You thought I was calling you weak when I said you weren’t evil? Do you think I’m weak? Do you think Tara’s weak? I asked around at the fair, and no one knew she was in trouble. Her hand was crushed to pulp, and she never made a sound, probably to keep Glory from hurting anybody else. You think she’s weak?”

He shook his head, tried to speak, but Buffy plowed on.

“You don’t have to be strong to be evil, Spike. Evil’s easy. Good…good’s hard. It would have been easy to tell Glory that Dawn’s the key, but Tara didn’t and neither did you, even though Glory hurt you. I saw what she did to you, and, Spike, you have never been stronger.”

“Buffy….”

She shook her head, “And maybe I didn’t understand soon enough that you had changed. But there was a lot of hate between us, Spike, and I think we both still feel some of it."

Buffy turned away from him finally, too tired and miserable to go on, and started for the crypt door. Then, she paused and said without looking back, "If you're still willing to help us, to be a friend to Dawn, I’d be grateful….”

She didn’t know he’d moved until his arms went around her from behind, pulling her back against him. Spike rested his forehead against her hair and held on to her, without speaking.

A hard, tearing sob wrenched out of her chest, and Buffy covered her face with her hands, shaking violently. Why did she ever try to interact with anyone? Why not stick to killing things? She was so much better at it.

At last, Spike moved his hands to her shoulders and turned her to face him.“Maybe we did have some leftover hate for each other,” he said softly. “But I think that might have rid us of the last of it, don’t you?”

He tugged gently at her wrists and Buffy finally lowered her hands from her face.

“I think so,” she said, sniffling loudly as she scrubbed at her face and got the last of the crying under control.

“There’s my elegant, refined Slayer,” Spike teased.

She looked up at him in a mock scowl, which melted off her face when she saw the extra shine in his eyes. “Spike?” she whispered, disbelieving, and raised a hand to his bruised cheek.

He turned his head a little, pressing his face into her palm, and before she realized what she was doing, her arms were around his shoulders, holding him to her.

Spike went rigid with surprise, then his arms closed desperately around her in turn.

It felt like coming home. It felt **safe**. Buffy knew it wasn’t, of course. Tara was still damaged. Glory was still out there. Buffy still didn’t know how to fight her. But just for now, the anger and pain and grief drained away, and she leaned against Spike and let it go.

They stood that way a long time, clutching at each other. Finally, she lifted her head from his shoulder and leaned up to kiss him gently. This time, he kissed her back, his lips a soft pressure against hers. And then he let her go as she stepped away.

There was no need for words. Both of them knew that more would come in the fullness of time. And if time ran out, that was all right too, for the wounds they had dealt each other had finally begun to heal.


	3. Chapter 3

She leaned her hands against the fallen file cabinet and forced herself to breathe steadily. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Centering. The way Giles had taught her. 

_No, don’t think about that. Don’t think about Giles lying in there, telling you how proud he is of you in what sounded way too much like a farewell speech._

Yeah, I’ve done a lot to be proud of. Somebody give me a medal.

Breathe. In. Out. Calm.

 _I have to find a way out of this. I have to think. But not about everybody waiting for me to get them home safe. Not about Tara, wailing and crying. Not about how she got that way._ “Supplies are ok.”

Buffy glanced over her shoulder and saw Spike standing in the doorway

“Good," she said automatically.

He crossed to where she stood and leaned back against the cabinet, his eyes on her. She went on staring blankly at the dull wooden wall.

_Could we get out the back? No. Tthe general isn’t willing to deal. Is there a way to find out really fast who Glory’s male host body is? Not that I can see._

“Probably do you some good to eat, yourself,” he pointed out after a moment of silence.

Her stomach heaved. “Maybe later. What about you? You’ve been burned and lost blood.” One more thing to worry about. She couldn’t afford to lose Spike now, for several reasons.

Funny how she’d known, instinctively, to turn to him when she needed help with the getaway car. She’d been turning to Spike a lot lately. Buffy knew any and all of her friends would follow her through the gates of Hell, and she loved them for it, but she also knew that Spike would be the one who could find the sneaky escape route.

“You volunteering to be a snack, Slayer? Don’t worry,” he added more seriously when she didn’t smile. “I fed earlier. I can go awhile.”

“How is your hand, anyway?” she asked, memory clear in her mind of him grabbing the sword.

“I’m **fine** , Buffy,” Spike said emphatically. “Look, take me off the worry list, all right?”

She smiled mirthlessly. “That’s one down. Gee, only 47 million to go.”

“We’ll get out of this,” he said with a confidence that almost made her believe him.

Before Buffy realized what he was doing, Spike was standing behind her, his uninjured hand digging into the knotted muscle at the base of her neck. She jumped, startled, then hissed in mingled pain and pleasure despite herself and arched her back slightly into the touch.

“We will?” she managed, bracing against the table as Spike worked methodically down her spine, strong fingers persuading the tight cords and tendons to loosen.

“Um-hmm. We’ll deal with the armor boys, get your Watcher some help, figure out a way to kick SuperBitch’s ass, put Tara’s mind back together, and be back home in time for Little Sis to fail her test.”

“I’m glad that’s settled. Got any ideas on how, exactly, all that gets done?”

She heard the smile in his voice as he responded to her mild sarcasm. “Not just yet. Give me time.”

She drew a breath to thank him, both for his words and for his actions over the past few days, but before she could speak, Spike shifted closer and his touch changed from soothingly impersonal to a caress, his palm stroking slowly from her shoulders to her waist.

“And after we’re all safely back in Sunnydale,” he whispered into her ear. “I’ll have you.”

Buffy jerked upright, her head almost hitting Spike in the nose, all relaxed feelings vanished. “You’ll what?” she demanded in disbelief.

He laughed softly. “You heard me.” A shudder ran through her both at his tone and at the touch of his lips on her ear. “I’ll have you, Slayer. Under me. Over me. All the ways that we can think of and for as long as we can manage.”

“Spike….” She had no idea what she was going to say as the part of her brain that handled language had apparently stopped working. The part that handled other stuff was in peak condition, however, tightening the muscles in her lower belly and making her breathe hard, even with all that was happening.

A second kiss brushed the back of her neck, as his hand slid around to her front and up to rest just beneath her breasts. “And I can manage a very long time,” Spike whispered, then moved away as they both caught the sound of steps outside the door.

“Giles is asking for you,” Xander said, with a suspicious look at the vampire.

“Yeah. I’ll be right there,” Buffy said blankly. Her worries settled back around her like a familiar garment as she moved hastily toward the door. Still, she managed a last look at Spike before they entered the main room. He smiled at her slightly and nodded in calm and confident promise.

And after a tiny, endless moment, she nodded back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I'm taking more liberties with the timeline. Everything happens as listed in The Gift, except Buffy doesn't get buried. I have no idea how JW intends to bring her back, but I'm sure it will be interesting. I hope this is too.

White light, not blinding despite its infinite brightness, made up of more colors than she could count.

Freedom of flight linked to utter certainty that she would never fall.

Peace.

Sand under her feet, wind whipping her hair, the bonfire blazing up higher than her head.

Slowly, reluctantly Buffy came back to herself. She didn’t know how long she’d floated (swum? danced?) in the light. Time wasn’t important. There wasn’t anything she had to do because she had already done it. And she liked the feeling.

Buffy turned, taking in her surroundings, somehow not surprised to find herself back in the desert of her visions.

“Why am I here?” she said clearly. “I made my choice. I gave my gift.”

The First One moved smoothly into the firelight. “And gave it freely.”

“Yes,” Buffy answered. “And now I’m done. I did my job. I put in my time.”

“You did well,” the First One nodded.

“You did wonderfully.”

At the familiar voice, Buffy whirled, forgetting the First One, the light, and everything else.

Joyce stood a few feet away, smiling despite the tears running down her face. The shadowed eyes and hollowed-out cheeks from her illness had vanished, and she almost seemed to glow as she held out her arms.

Buffy threw herself across the intervening sand, laughing and sobbing all at once. “Mommy!” she choked, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder.

Joyce rocked her back and forth, raining kisses her hair. “Oh, my baby. My sweetheart. My beautiful, darling girl.”

“I’m sorry,” Buffy sobbed. “So sorry I couldn’t save you. I tried. Really, really, tried. Oh, Mom, I broke your rib….”

“Shhhh,” Joyce pushed her back far enough to brush the tears from her daughter’s cheeks. “You did all anyone could do. You were perfect. I am so proud of you.”

“You won’t leave me again?” Buffy pleaded. “We’ll always be together?”

“Sweetie, we **were** always together. I was always there, watching you and loving you. And we’ll be together now, if that’s what you want.”

“What I want?” she asked puzzled. “Of course, it’s what I want! What else could I want?”

In answer, Joyce gently took her shoulders and turned her back to face the First One who had moved around the fire to stand within a few feet of Buffy.

She held out her hand, and Buffy saw a pinpoint of light glowing in the center of her palm. “You have given your gift. I offer one in return to take or to refuse.”

Suspicion trailed an icy finger down her spine, and Buffy backed up a step, tempted to refuse immediately. But something in her nature, something that had to know, good or bad, what was coming, wouldn’t let her. “What gift is that?”

“Your gift was death. My gift is life.”

She swallowed hard. “Life? You can make me alive again?”

The First One nodded.

Buffy stormed forward, pulling her shoulders from her mother’s hands. “Why are you offering this to me? Why not to the Knights of Byzantium? Or to the people who have been killed by vampires? WHY NOT TO MY MOM?”

The First One was unmoved by the other’s rage. “It is a gift offered only to the Slayer, and I have offered it to each. If you accept, you will return to what you were. If not, you will continue in your afterlife.”

Bafflement replaced Buffy’s anger. “I never heard of a Slayer coming back from the dead.” And the Watcher’s Council would have been all over that one, she added to herself.

The First One nodded. “All refused the gift.”

The words came back from several months ago:

_She simply wanted it. Every Slayer has a death wish._

At last, she could understand Spike's words and the mindset of the other Slayers. It was an unspeakable relief to be done with everything. No more worries or responsibilities. No more killing. Yes, Buffy knew why her sisters had refused this gift.

_But I'm different from them aren't I? The first Slayer with ties to the mortal world. Will and the others will go on and be ok, but…_

“What about Dawn?” she asked. “What will happen to Dawn if I go back? Or if I don’t?”

The First One shrugged. “If you go back, she will have one life. If you don’t, another. She has her own choices to make. You have yours.”

Troubled, Buffy looked back at her mother, and Joyce moved to stand beside her. “Mom, what should I do?”

Joyce touched her cheek gently, and her eyes were full of love, but she said, “Only you can decide that, Buffy.”

She bowed her head, feeling responsibility close around her again. If she didn’t go back, Dawn would have to live with their father or in foster care. No one would let Giles take her, even if he wanted to. And Buffy was no longer sure Giles was a good choice to guard her sister. Dawn would manage, but her life would be much harder than it had to be.

But it was a heavy burden to pick up after feeling so light, so free. She would be alone again, which was hard to face after knowing her mother’s love once more.

“To be alone or not is another choice for you to make,” whispered the First One.

The fire blazed up, and the individual flames curled around to frame a series of images of one person: Spike

…Seated by her on the porch, apparently forgetting he’d shown up with a shotgun.

…Unconscious in her arms, bruised and bloody from the torture he’d endured for her sake.

…Standing at the foot of the stairs, saying, “I know you’ll never love me.” So different from his arrogant promise to ‘have’ her when they returned to Sunnydale.

…Facing the man on the tower: “I made a promise to a lady.”

…Collapsing in sobs at the sight of her dead body.

The final image was static, just Spike leaning against a wall, head bent to light a cigarette, the sweep of his lashes long and dark against his pale cheek.

There was a long silence, which was broken by Joyce saying thoughtfully, “He certainly is cute.”

“Mmm,” the First One nodded in agreement.

Buffy’s jaw dropped open as she stared from one woman to the other. Both were staring at the fire image and, frankly, **appreciating** Spike.

“MOM!”

“Oh, Buffy,” her mother flapped an impatient hand. “If I had someone like that interested in me, you wouldn’t catch me hanging around here.”

“The choice is yours,” the First One said. “But either choice can bring joy if you have the courage to seek it out.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, it had sounded fine and dandy, Buffy thought as she stomped around the kitchen and viciously crunched her peanut-butter smeared celery stick. No one could say the First One didn’t talk a good game. Who could resist a second chance at a life that involved somebody able to make and ancient Slayer incarnation sit up and take notice? The only problem was that she had left out one tiny detail.

Spike was gone.

It had taken her a couple of days to realize he wasn’t around. The First One had sent her back a few minutes after her official ‘death’, and she had seen him when she opened her eyes. Buffy recalled one clear image of his face, tears and grief rapidly overcome by joy before she was enveloped in something between a group hug and a tackle by the rest of the gang, but he had left by the time she surfaced.

Then there had been the usual post-apocalypse issues to deal with, such as coming up with convincing explanations for the wreckage, dead bodies, and a group of suddenly sane people who had no idea why they were lying around the foot of a large metal tower. Fortunately, the Sunnydale police had a habit of taking most things in their stride.

New problems came up this time, including convincing Dawn that even though they had just averted the destruction of the entire dimension, she still had to go to school and then begging said school to take her sister back after her unscheduled absence.

Worst of all had been the tense, unhappy talk between herself and Giles, followed by his quiet departure for England. Buffy felt the tears burn behind her eyes at the thought of that confrontation.

_“I cannot function as your Watcher any longer.”_

_“I know.”_

And she had known. She would always love him, but there was a lack of trust between them now, which kept him from the Watcher role. He would have killed Dawn if he thought it necessary. She knew it, and for now, she couldn’t forgive him.

He remained a silent partner in the Magic Box, but the store was run by Willow and Anya, which was working out much better than anyone would have thought. Of course, Willow was so blissful at having Tara back that it was impossible for her to get angry about anything, and Anya’s universe currently consisted of bridal magazines.

When the dust cleared, Buffy had looked around and noticed the absence of a certain platinum-haired vampire. She had gone to his crypt and found it empty, without even a ‘Dear Buffy’ letter, and the RV was gone from its hiding place.

“Stupid bleach-headed idiot,” she muttered, but the words had no force behind them. A note wasn’t strictly necessary - Buffy knew why Spike left, and there was no fair way for her to blame him. She had done the same thing, after all, when she thought she had failed, even if the only place she had run to was the inside of her own head.

The visions the First One had shown her included Spike being thrown from the tower, and the vampire’s expression had been clearly visible. His face had shown horror rather than fear: horror that he’d been unable to protect Dawn: horror that he hadn’t kept his promise to Buffy.

Once he knew he didn’t have to watch over Dawn, Spike had fled the scene of what he saw as his failure, and Buffy couldn’t go after him and shake some sense into him because she didn’t know where he was.

_Leave it to Spike to haul up stakes…ugh, that was bad even for me…and take off just when I decided I wanted him around. And I do want him around. A lot._

Buffy shook her head. She wished she’d said something in response to his “I know you’ll never love me,” but some deep part of her had known the price she might have pay that night and had started mentally unplugging from the world. Now, it was too late.

“So here we are,” she sighed. “Or here we aren’t, I guess.” She turned to begin another orbit of the kitchen and came up short at the sight of Dawn leaning in the doorway.

“What are you doing? I thought you were packing for an overnight at Heather’s.”

Dawn shrugged. “I was watching you wave the celery around.”

Buffy looked down and realized she had been using celery to punctuate her thoughts. “Oh.” She set it down hastily. “Show’s over.”

Instead of leaving, Dawn slid into one of the kitchen chairs. “You upset over Spike vacating?” when Buffy looked surprised, Dawn smiled slightly. "Bleach-headed idiot was kind of a clue."

Her mouth automatically started to say, “No,” but Buffy stopped, thought about it, and met her sister’s direct gaze. “Yes.”

“He left because he thinks he screwed up didn’t he?”

Buffy nodded.

“Dork.”

Buffy nodded again, taking the chair across the table. “Do you think Spike screwed up?”

“No!” Dawn said immediately. “He tried really hard to help me, but that creepy guy stabbed him.”

“I don’t think he did either,” Buffy reassured her. “I wish…I wish I could tell him that.”

“Isn’t there some way to track him? A vampire underground or something?”

“Not that I know of, but I’ll keep my ears open. Look, don’t worry about this tonight. Get your stuff together or Heather and the others will eat all the pizza.”

“Are you going to be all right by yourself?” Dawn asked.

Buffy reached across the table and smoothed back her sister’s hair, touched by the younger girl’s thoughtfulness. “Me and the celery are good.”

Dawn started out, but paused in the kitchen doorway. “Buffy?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you…like…Spike now?”

That was the big question, the one she’d successfully avoided until now. Dawn said ‘like’ but they both knew what she meant. Buffy's mouth dried up.

When she had faced the images of Spike in...limbo or wherever it had been...and seen his love for her, everything had seemed simple. She had known she had feelings for him, and the thought of coming back and being with him had felt right. But then, she had come back and the world had crowded in, and he had disappeared. There had been time for her to think and question herself and become afraid again as she remembered her less than sterling relationship record.

She had been right: the hard thing was to live in the world especially when it involved answering questions like that. But she had chosen to come back and try.

“Yeah,” she said finally, finding it a little easier than she had thought it would be. “I do.”

Dawn nodded. “Good. I hope you can find him.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow in question and Dawn grinned. “I’m betting Spike will keep you so busy you won’t have time to get in my hair.”

“Dawny,” Buffy said lovingly. “I will **always** have time to get in your hair.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her sister safely settled at Heather’s, Buffy flopped on the couch and stared at the ceiling.

_All those detective shows say that you should get inside the other person’s head, so if I were a depressed vampire in an RV, where would I go?_

_I have absolutely no idea._

That method exhausted, she turned her mind to what she knew about Spike. She didn’t think he would go back to Drusilla since he hadn’t parted with the insane vampire on the best of terms.

Besides, what she knew about Spike’s former personality didn’t exactly apply to Spike as he was now, because if it did, then she wouldn’t be trying to find him except to kill him, and…

“Oh, this is hopeless.”

She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands.

_Either choice can bring joy if you have the courage to seek it out._

“Sure,” she snapped at the irritatingly calm voice of the First One. “How am I supposed to seek it out if I don’t know where it is?”

And then the knowledge of where Spike was sank into Buffy’s mind like a stone thrown into a pond. There was no uncertainty, no question, for there was only one place he could be. She grabbed for the phone.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hello?” Willow’s voice sounded frazzled.

“Will? It’s me. I need a favor.”

“A favor? Sure! I would love to do you a favor. You need me to come over right now?”

“No,” Buffy squinted curiously at the phone. “I have to…uh…go somewhere, so I need you to be Dawn’s contact tonight while she’s at Heather’s and then keep her with you tomorrow. Also, I need the keys to Giles’ car, but I can come to your place to pick them up.”

Instead of trying to haul it back to England, Giles had signed the car over to Willow and Anya as property of the Magic Box, especially when it was discovered that Tara could drive.

“This very minute? Of course. I’ll be right there.”

The light dawned. “Anya’s with you, isn’t she?”

“Exactly! I’m on my way!”

In the background, Buffy heard the ex-demon’s penetrating voice. “Is that Buffy? Ask her how she feels about Dusty Rose.”

  
It was only ten minutes before Tara pulled the car up in front of Buffy’s house with Willow in the front passenger seat and Anya firmly ensconced in the back. The pale-haired witch smiled wryly at Buffy over the roof of the car as the other two women climbed out.

“What’s the problem?” Anya asked curiously.

“I just need the car,” Buffy explained. “And for some of you guys to keep Dawn with you tomorrow. I already called Dawn and explained.”

“PLEASE don’t leave me with Anya!” Dawn had begged. "The last time I was with her, she spent an entire hour talking about centerpieces.”

“I’ll try, but think of it as an investment. A little pain now to gain sister-free hair later.”

“Oh.” Anya held a small fabric swatch up to Buffy’s face and squinted in the porch light. “That makes you look kind of sallow. Don’t you think?” she called over her shoulder.

“Whatever.” The two witches approached, Willow’s hand automatically resting on Tara’s arm. She had apparently decided that if she kept a constant grip on her lover, nobody would have an opportunity to injure Tara again. For her part, Tara seemed sublimely content to let Willow hang onto her.

Tara handed over the keys without comment, but Willow asked curiously. “Why do you want the car? I mean, it’s ok, but you and driving don’t usually go together that well.”

Buffy sighed. It was sort of unrealistic, but she had really hoped the question wouldn’t come up. Still, it probably came under the heading of ‘courage to seek out her joy’ or something.

“I know where Spike is,” she said, trying to sound calm. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Oh.”

It got very quiet on the porch as the three women wrestled with her statement and the various possible meanings behind it. Willow looked unhappily at Tara, but the other smiled and reached to touch Buffy’s shoulder.

“I used to not like him, but he helped us a lot,” she said gently. “And he was kind to me when I burned his hand.”

“That’s true,” Willow said finally and tried to smile. She enveloped Buffy in an awkward hug. “It’s up to you, Buffy. Whatever you decide.”

“Thanks,” she said uncomfortably.

“Ask him if he’s willing to be an usher,” Anya said briskly. “And if he is, I’m going to need his measurements.”

Buffy didn’t know what image went through the witches’ minds, but their eyes went big and she was pretty sure that her own did too.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She drove carefully through the night, the radio turned up and a cup of coffee in the drink holder, not wanting the First One to have to offer her gift again because of a car crash.

The desert unfolded around her, and there was plenty of light to see by, what with the moon and approximately 40 bazillion stars, but nothing looked especially familiar. When she and Giles had brought her here, it had been daylight. Also, Buffy had to admit that one patch of sand, rock, and cactus looked pretty much like another to her.

Still, she wasn’t particularly worried.

_I’m out here doing the joy-seeking. If The Powers That Be want me to find it, they’ll tell me where to turn off._

An hour or so later, Buffy felt a sort of tugging in her mind, and managed to pull the car over without running it into anything, which she considered cause for a minor celebration. She hopped out, locked the car, and opened the trunk. Giles might have been happy with twigs and a gourd, but she felt a little more secure with some extra water, a flashlight, and a basic first aid kit.

She flicked on the light and headed into the desert. A few minutes walking brought her to the place where Giles had drawn the circle to begin her quest.

“I could draw the circle, I guess,” Buffy said aloud. “But I don’t have a gourd to shake.”

Her eyes stung at the memory of her first time here, at the memory of Giles jumping in an out of the circle, determinedly shaking his gourd. He had been embarrassed, but had done it anyway because it was to keep her safe. He had always tried to keep her safe or as safe as the Slayer could be.

She dropped to one knee and laid her palm against the ground, missing her Watcher more than she would have thought possible. He had been willing to sacrifice Dawn, but he would have sacrificed himself as well. And hadn’t her need to protect Angel sacrificed Jenny Calendar? Yes, it had, and Giles had never held it against her.

Love. Give. Forgive. A sob tore from her throat.

“As soon as I get back, Giles,” she promised through her tears. “I’ll call you. We’ll work this out. Even if you can’t be my Watcher anymore, I want you to be my friend.”

Buffy swiped a hand across her eyes and looked up to see a mountain lion sitting a few feet away. “I really hope you’re my guide,” she said, standing cautiously. Apparently it was, because when she gained her feet, the lion turned and padded away into the night. She trotted along behind, her eyes fixed on the tawny bulk ahead of her.

After walking for what felt like forever, Buffy realized that she could see the lion more clearly and looked around to see that the sun was coming up. When she looked back, she saw that the form of her guide had been replaced by the hulk of the RV.

Buffy swallowed nervously. Her goal had been to get here, and now that she was here, she had no clue what she should do. What if Spike didn’t want to come back? What if he wasn’t interested in her anymore? What if he was shacked up in there with some vamp-type female?

Actually, she knew what she would do in that case. There would be some serious hair-pulling. Not to mention dust.

Mouth set, she stepped forward, pausing when her foot knocked against something that clinked. She looked down to see an empty Scotch bottle rolling away. It had a few friends.

_Geez, Spike, you couldn’t go on a bender back in Sunnydale?_

Buffy was surprised he hadn’t crashed the RV, driving drunk through the desert wastes, but she suspected he’d had some mysterious-oracle-type help.

She tapped at the door and felt a pang of fear when there was no answer. The sun was pretty much up. If he was outside…no…there…her Slayer senses detected the presence of a vampire inside, and only one, fortunately for them all.

Cautiously, she cracked the door open and peeked inside. Spike’s coat hung over the back of one of the chairs, and the available surfaces were covered with more Scotch bottles and a flask of animal blood. She sighed, stepped up and into the cramped space, closed the door behind her, and made her way to the sliding door at the back.

Spike was sprawled across the bunk, not even twitching when she shoved the door back and knocked one of his boots over. For a moment, fear clutched at her, then the Scotch fumes stung her nose, and Buffy shook her head.

_Light a match in here and the place would probably go up like a fireball._

She scowled at the unconscious vampire for a moment, but her impatience faded when her eyes finished adjusting to the dimness and she got a better look at his face. His fall from the tower had added to his rather spectacular collection of bruises and cuts, but what touched her were the deep hollows that were visible even with his eyes closed and the tension that radiated from him even in sleep. Knocking himself out with Scotch was probably the only way he was resting at all.

She sat on the edge of the bunk and smoothed the pale hair back from his forehead. “Spike?”

He shifted, frowning in his sleep, but didn’t waken.

“Spike?” she tried again, shaking his shoulder gingerly with no noticeable effect.

“All right,” she said at last. “You can sleep now, but we’re going to talk later.”

Buffy was sleepy as well, and found herself eyeing the bunk with some interest. There was room for two if she pushed him against the wall, but she wasn’t quite brave enough for that. Spike waking up in her arms sounded romantic, but she wasn’t sure how it would actually play out. Certainly she wouldn’t get any sleep in the meantime.

She moved back into the main area of the RV and curled up on the bench behind the table. It would do for a short nap, and allowed her to guard the front door if necessary. Resting her head on her jacket, she dozed off.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“No. God, no! Dawn…BUFFY!!!”

She was on her feet before she was fully awake, and had no idea of her surroundings until she almost broke her hip scrambling out from the behind the built-in table.

_The RV. I’m in the RV. The Knights must be attacking. Dawn, where’s Dawn…Oh._

Buffy shook her head to clear it. All that had already happened. Glory was gone, Dawn was ok, and she was here because of…

“Spike,” she said aloud and ran to the back of the RV just as a loud thud came from behind the sliding door.

He was coming to his feet as she got the door open, eyes wide and unseeing as he dropped into a fighting crouch.

“Leave her alone, damn you,” he snarled.

“Wait,” she began but that was as far as she got before he charged her, the tackle carrying them both to the floor.

Still a few bugs in that chip, she thought disjointedly as they tussled. In his dream, Spike fought demons, not humans, so it wasn’t stopping him. He was going all out too, raining blows down on her head that she was just managing to dodge or block. The Slayer decided to get in on the act, trying to send Buffy’s hand down toward the stake she’d automatically stuck in her belt before leaving the house.

She’d come too far to kill him now. Buffy braced, twisted and managed to throw them both into the side of the RV. He still for an instant, dizzy from shock and alcohol, and she used the time to wriggle out from under him and grab hold of his shoulders.

“SPIKE!” she shouted, giving him a hard shake. “WAKE UP!”

He jerked violently under her hands, blinked, and his eyes cleared. “Buffy?”

“Yeah,” she said wearily, letting him go and sliding across the narrow hallway to lean against the opposite wall.

He pushed himself into a sitting position. “I was dreaming,” he said slowly, glancing back down the hallway toward the bunk with a shudder.

She softened. “I know.”

She had dreamed some bad ones too: Ben turning into Glory, Giles killing Dawn, Dawn jumping because Buffy’s sacrifice wasn’t enough to close the portal, Tara’s wide-eyed empty stare, the deaths of her other friends. These last few days had left no shortage of nightmare material.

With a final head shake, Spike seemed to come back to himself fully and his eyes fastened on her with growing worry. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s happened. We usually get a few months’ break between apocalypses,” Buffy said trying to lighten the mood and failing miserably.

He frowned at her suspiciously. “What are you doing here, then?”

Somehow, facing him, her words dried up. “I came to…to see if you were all right. You took off so fast.”

“Right,” he snorted and stood, looming over her for an instant before he turned and headed toward the front of the RV, fingers plowing through his hair.

Buffy stayed where she was, watching as he fished cigarettes and lighter from the pocket of his coat. This wasn’t going at all as she had pictured. What happened to falling into each other’s arms? True, they had sort of done that, but she hadn’t anticipated he’d be trying to punch her in the head at the time.

Surprisingly, the alcohol-laden air didn’t ignite when he flicked the lighter, and Spike drew a deep breath on the cigarette before he turned back to face her, half-sitting on the edge of the table, face smooth and unreadable.

“Well, I’m just splendid, Slayer, thank you for asking,” he drawled. “Now that you’ve got that sorted out, you can trundle back to Sunnydale.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said sarcastically, climbing to her feet to face him. “You’re in great shape, which explains why you’re out here in the desert, drunk off your ass.”

“I’m celebrating. Destruction of the world avoided, Slayer miraculously returned from the dead, and so forth.” He caught up a random bottle from the table and held it out to her. “Care to join me? Or did you and the Scoobies party hearty at the Bronze?”

Buffy moved down the hallway, keeping her eyes locked on him. “Strange as it is, we’ve all been a little busy. That’s why it took me a few days to realize you'd left. Besides, I thought you’d say goodbye, Spike. To Dawn if not to me.” She caught the neck of the bottle as he raised it to his lips. “And if you want to celebrate my return,” she said softly. “Do it with me around.”

He pulled the bottle away and clunked it down on the table. “Where I go, and what I do, isn’t your affair,” he said coldly. “Don't mother me the way you try with the rest of them.”

The rebuff hurt more than any blow he could have struck, and the only thing that kept her from storming out was that she recognized the behavior and knew where it was coming from. It was much easier to be angry and lash out rather than admitting you hurt deep inside. She did it all the time.

_God, I must be annoying. It’s amazing people don’t slap me regularly._

Still, even understanding what Spike was doing didn’t keep his words from making her angry. “So, you’d rather be out here by yourself, screaming yourself awake from nightmares than back in Sunnydale, where somebody could maybe help? That’s brilliant.”

He seized her arm in a bruising grip and yanked. She stumbled forward and ended standing between his knees, her face was an inch or so from his. “What were you planning to do, Slayer, kiss it better?” he snarled.

Somehow, her anger deflated rather than increased. Buffy raised her free hand and laid it gently against his cheek. “Spike. It wasn’t your fault.”

She felt a tremor go through him. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, still trying to sound cold although he didn’t pull away from her touch and she saw the muscles work in his throat.

“Yes, you do,” she said quietly. “What happened to Dawn, what happened to me. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh. That.” He did draw back then and release her arm. She let him go, but didn’t move away, watching mingled anger and grief flow through his blue eyes. “I must have missed something. You mean I defended Dawn as I promised, and you didn’t die? Strange how I don’t remember it that way.”

“You did defend Dawn,” Buffy pointed out. “You took a knife in the ribs and a fall from the tower defending Dawn. It could have been you that died, you know, if you’d landed on some of the construction stuff.”

He stared past her at some horror she couldn’t see. “Doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “At the end of the day, it was my fault you died.”

“Don’t be stupid!” Buffy exploded. She whirled away, pacing the small front area. “You want to hand out blame, Spike? There’s plenty to go around. How about Tara? She told Glory that Dawn was the key! Willow’s in for it too, because it was her fault Tara was by herself, also, she didn’t defeat Glory with magic. I’m sure I can think of something Xander and Anya did too, or didn’t do. And finally, what about me? I tied a bow around Dawn and handed her to Glory. Of course, that’s Giles’ fault too because how stupid was it for him to get wounded helping me?”

She ended up back in front of him. Spike looked away from her, but she caught his chin and pulled his head back around. Anger flared in his eyes, but that was better than despair.

“At the end of the day,” Buffy said firmly. “I died because of an insane hell god. Not for any other reason. Definitely not because of what anyone did to help me.”

He jerked his chin away but didn’t take his eyes from her face as the silence stretched between them.

Finally, Buffy said, “Ok, that was my first attempt at a Willow-type pep talk, so if it didn’t work, I’m going to be bummed.”

Spike’s lips twitched. “Don’t worry. It was very insightful. I’m all full of happy thoughts now.”

“Good.” She relaxed a little. “So, you’re going to follow me back to Sunnydale?”

“No.”

It was like a stake to the heart. “What? Why not?”

He slid past her, moved to the driver’s seat and began to sort the wires under the dashboard. “As you said, the current Big Bad’s been defeated. You and the others can handle the standard nasties.”

“But…” She spluttered, her upset increasing. “You’ve been in Sunnydale two years, Spike. You have a home. You’re accepted now, part of the group. I…Dawn would miss you.”

He still didn’t look at her. “Two years is it? Definitely time for me to be moving on, Pet. I don’t usually stay long in one place. Give my regards to the Niblet. Perhaps I’ll swing by on Prom Night, make sure her bloke knows to behave.”

“Damn it, Spike!” Buffy crouched beside the seat, trying to see his expression. “Why now? And don’t hand me that about it being time to move on! Why are you leaving?”

His voice was distant. “You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“All right then,” Spike turned in the seat and looked her in the eye. “I’m leaving because of you.”

“WHAT!? But…”

“Shh. You asked, so I’m telling you.” He took a deep breath. “I saw you die and my world ended. The only thing keeping me from the sun was I thought I could help Dawn in some way. Then you came back, and the others ran to you, all except me, ‘cause I didn’t have the right. And I understood that I never would have the right.”

“Spike…”

“Give us a minute, would you? It would have all gone back to normal, except maybe I would have been some kind of honorary Scooby. And that would be fine, except in the normal course of things, you’d find a new man. Or maybe Finn would sort out his head from his arse or Angel polish off that redemption and become human. Doesn’t matter. One way or another, you’d go with someone. And I couldn’t bear it. What are you doing?” he finished in some alarm as Buffy started banging her head against the arm of the seat.

“Spike,” she said through gritted teeth. “How did I find you?”

“What?”

“You didn’t exactly leave me a map. How did I get here?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” he said carefully, hearing the anger in her voice. “Location spell by the witches?”

“No. I had a vision, a vision that told me approximately where you were, and then a spirit guide led me the rest of the way. Here’s another question. You’ve been driving three days, but you’re only about 6 hours out of Sunnydale. Why is that? And do you have any idea where you are?”

“No?” he offered nervously.

She rose to a crouch, grabbed the arms of the seat and yanked so that Spike faced her full on. Leaning over him, she snarled, “You are in a sacred place, Spike. The place where I met the First One in a dream two years ago. The place Giles brought me for guidance. The place where I’m pretty sure the First One held your ass until I could find you.”

“Oh,” he breathed, cool fingers lightly encircling her wrists. Hope was spreading across Spike’s features, but Buffy felt as if she were going to explode with sheer panic. Adrenaline was surging through her muscles, urging her to flee through the door and into the desert.

_Say it. Say it now while you still can. God, can’t I just jump off another tower?_

She clamped her eyes shut and said without letting herself stop to think. “You said you were part of the reason I died. That isn’t true. But you’re a big part of the reason I came back.”

Buffy felt his hands tugging at her wrists and let Spike draw her shaking body into his lap, but she stubbornly kept her eyes shut even as he tucked her head under his chin.

“What is it?” he whispered. “Why is this terrifying you so much?”

“Because,” she choked, “You have this whole thing about me. You built a robot me. You let Glory torture you because you didn’t want me to be hurt. And I’m just not that good a person. I mean, I’m ok in a crisis, but I suck at the day-to-day stuff, and….”

His hands smoothed over her back. “I stalked you for a long time, remember? I know all your bad points.” He kissed her hair. “You’re bossy, bad-tempered, and you ball up like a hedgehog when something’s troubling you.”

“And bad puns,” she said, starting to unclench a little.

“Can’t forget those,” Spike moved her back against his shoulder, and Buffy felt his lips brush lightly over her eyelids. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and looked into the face so near her own.

“And you care enough for the whole bleeding world. I’m after the whole package,” he finished seriously. “Just be you. Just be Buffy. That’s all I want.”

It felt like iron bands cracked from around her heart. “No one else ever said that to me,” she said wonderingly, and it was true. She had never felt like a good enough daughter, good enough girlfriend, good enough Slayer. To be told she was enough as she was overwhelmed her.

Buffy didn’t have the words to tell him how much his statement meant to her, but there was another language she could use. She put her hand on the back of Spike’s head and pulled his mouth the rest of the way down to hers.

His arms tightened around her as his cool, soft lips moved against hers, and the feeling of freedom and safety that went through Buffy was similar to what she had known floating in the light, but with the added dimension of understanding that she could hold Spike up as well.

For a long time, the peace of simply being in his arms was enough, but then a different kind of tension began to fill her, making Buffy sit up in his lap then finally straddle him, the kiss deepening as their tongues lashed furiously together.

Spike tore his mouth from hers and slid it down her throat, and she cried out as his hand closed around one of her breasts, his touch on flesh that was sensitized even through her clothes sending a jolt straight through her.

He growled in response, yanked her shirt up and pushed her bra cup out of the way, and then she was writhing in his grasp as his mouth fastened on her nipple. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, torn between wanting him to stay there for the next year or so and for him to come back to her mouth.

The seat suddenly groaned alarmingly and Spike lifted his head from Buffy’s swollen breast.

“Back,” they said simultaneously and began frantically disentangling from each other and from the seat. They staggered down the hallway, managing to lose her shirt, his shirt, and her bra on the way, and collapsed across the bunk.

There wasn’t a lot of room back there, especially after Spike slid the door shut, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did any more except that Buffy had ended on top and it was Spike’s turn to groan as her hands and mouth slid over his chest.

“Buffy. Oh, God, love,” he gasped as she went lower, tracing the hard muscles of his abdomen with her lips.

She leaned up to stare into his eyes, her hand moving to the button of his jeans. He let her unfasten them, but before she could close her hand around his length, Spike caught her under the arms and pulled her back up the length of his body, twisting to bring her beneath him.

“Not yet,” he gasped in her ear, before crushing his mouth back down on hers, his erection cool and hard against her belly.

Long moments later, he moved down her body, mouth covering every inch of her torso from neck to navel. Then, he shifted to kneel beside her and Buffy could see him deliberately gather his control.

She began to shiver as Spike got rid of her shoes and socks, fingers teasing on the arches of her feet, and was shaking in earnest as he unfastened her pants and tugged them along with her underwear slowly, deliberately past her hips.

She started clawing marks in the back of the RV as his mouth moved between her thighs. Buffy twisted against him, but his iron hold on her hips didn’t loosen, and his lips and tongue didn’t cease their assault on her sanity. Long caressing licks and kisses alternated with a hard sucking that almost, but not quite, crossed the line from pleasure to pain.

Then she was screaming his name and arching like a bow as the contractions shot through her. Through the roaring in her ears, Buffy thought she heard a rustle. When his body covered hers again, she dimly identified the sound as Spike shedding his jeans.

I should touch him, she thought vaguely and reached for him, but he pushed her hands aside.

“Later,” he growled, self-control gone as he entered her hard and fast.

She wrapped around him, hips moving against his, tasting herself as their mouths met. After a few moments, Spike raised up a little, taking his weight on his hands. He thrust hard and deep and Buffy braced her feet against the bunk and met him stroke for stroke.

“Let go,” she whispered, leaning up to kiss him. “Let go, I want to feel you.” She drew a deep breath, and found the words weren’t as hard to say as she thought they might be. “I love you, Spike.”

His eyes went wide and defenseless and she felt him spill into her. Buffy lay back, drawing his head to rest against her shoulder, fingers playing in his hair.

Eventually, he shifted to lie next to her, sliding his arm under her head for a pillow, his other hand resting over her heart.

“You are coming back to Sunnydale now, right?” she asked sleepily.

“Well, yeah,” Spike snorted. “Unless you were plannng to move into the RV.”

“I don’t think that would work out with Dawn and all.”

“She could stay in your house. The Niblet’s a big girl. All 14-year-olds want their own place.”

“Uh. No.”

“S’pose I’ll follow you back then. I’ve got more having of you to do. What was it, ‘all the ways we can imagine and for as long as we can manage’?”

“Mmmm. And you managed a good while.”

“Oh, Pet,” Spike laughed softly. He took her hand, moved it down. “Give us a minute, and I'll manage some more.”

“Wow,” Buffy said, suitably impressed. “That reminds me. Anya wants your measurements.”

There was a pause, then Spike said carefully. “Anya wants my what?”

Buffy grinned. “Measurements. You get to be an usher in what’s going to be the wedding of the millennium. That’s what being part of the group means,” she added maliciously.

“It’s been fun, Love,” he said, “But I can see we’re going to have to go back to being mortal enemies.”

She sighed. “Oh, well. Guess I’ll get up then.”

There was another pause. “Fine. She can have my bloody measurements. But she’s not going to be the one to take them. I’m not trusting Anya anywhere near my inseam.”

  
The End


End file.
